


A Great Mistake

by Waldo



Series: A Series of Mistakes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, First Time, Hound of the Baskervilles, M/M, Missing Scene, Porn, Porn Battle, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waldo/pseuds/Waldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock, how much of that blood is yours?"<br/>"Oh, hardly any," Sherlock scoffed.<br/>John dragged himself out of his chair.  "Into the shower with you,"</p><p> </p><p>(Missing scene from "The Hounds of Baskerville"; written for Porn Battle XIII)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Great Mistake

**“I am sure it is a great mistake always to know enough to go in when it rains. One may keep snug and dry by such knowledge, but one misses a world of loveliness.”** \- Adeline Knapp

 

 

"You rode the tube like that?"  
  
"Well, none of the cabs would take me."  
  
Once John recovered from his initial shock, he sighed and put his paper down.  "Sherlock, how much of that blood is yours?"  
  
"Oh, hardly any," Sherlock scoffed.  
  
John dragged himself out of his chair.  "Into the shower with you," he told Sherlock with a shove to his back that left John's hand tacky with red.  "You'll probably need a tetanus shot, too."  
  
Sherlock made a face at that.    
  
John followed him into the bathroom and started the shower while Sherlock began pulling off his now-ruined clothes.    
  
"So, did you find the ring?" John asked as he rinsed his hand off at the sink and then dragged out the rather large first aid kit he’d accumulated since moving in with Sherlock.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Where was it?"  
  
"The abattoir."  
  
"How does a suburban housewife's wedding ring end up in an abattoir?"  
  
“Contrary to Mrs. Lester's claims, her house was never broken into.  She simply lost the damn thing." Sherlock kicked his trousers into the corner of the bathroom with his ruined shirt.    
  
John sat Sherlock down on the closed toilet.  He had a white flannel that he could bleach later.  "Look up," he told Sherlock and when Sherlock did he began gently clearing the area around his eyes of blood and something more viscous and clear, but equally as disgusting.  Sherlock was being as still as he could for John, and being highly tolerant of John's fussing, especially for his most recent state of mind: hyper, agitated and bored.  
  
"Should I be afraid of asking how finding a lost engagement ring resulted in you coming home covered in blood?"  
  
"A case of extreme bad timing," was Sherlock's reply as John finished wiping off his face.  
  
John pointed to the shower. "You can explain that cryptic remark while you clean up.  When you're done, I want to see to that cut on your shoulder and the one on your calf."  
  
Sherlock looked down and raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn't realized he'd been cut on his leg.  He pulled off his boxers, tossing them in the discarded clothes pile and climbed into the steaming shower. John wiped down the toilet seat and then sat on it.  He'd be pretty happy if he could get the very odd vision of Sherlock in his boxers, with his head and hands covered in a truly grotesque farmer's sunburn out of his head as soon as possible.    
  
"So, all this blood is from...?"  
  
"Mrs. Lester lives on a small family farm.  They supplement Mr. Lester's moderate teaching income by raising a small number of livestock, which are sold to a boutique butchering operation a few miles away.  Mrs. Lester has recently been going out of her way to lose weight - probably in hopes of getting Mr. Lester to call off the affair he's having that she’s pretending she doesn’t know about.  We traced back to the last time she saw it and she could not recall if she'd taken it off when she'd gone out to slop the hogs the previous day."  
  
John suddenly saw where this was going.  "Her ring was loose, it fell into the trough and the pig ate the ring.  Got it."  John could see the shadow of Sherlock scrubbing his chest and neck with a flannel through the shower curtain, he knew Sherlock couldn’t see him, so he took a few seconds to admire his flatmate’s physique.  John hadn’t really thought tall and lanky was his type until Sherlock, but there was something about the distinctiveness in Sherlock’s form that he couldn’t help but admire even in silhouette.  
  
"Well, I should hope so. I've all but spelled it out for you."  
  
John sighed.  Sherlock was so much fun when he was in a mood like this.  "Care to explain how that led to you coming home looking like Carrie?"  
  
"Carrie?" Sherlock asked, sticking his wet head out of the curtain.  "Carrie who?"  
  
John shook his head.  The gaps in Sherlock's vast knowledge were more likely to be in areas like the arts and especially in pop culture, but it still amused him when he knew something Sherlock didn't.  He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and quickly googled the Stephen King movie.  He turned and showed it to Sherlock.  "[Carrie](http://www.imdb.com/media/rm363641344/tt0074285)."  
  
Sherlock wrinkled his nose.  "Ugh." His head disappeared back into the shower.  
  
"She was a serial killer.  What's your excuse?" John asked as he set his phone on the sink.  
  
"The pig was already at the processing plant and had already been put on the butchering line.  It was a matter of getting to the ring before the butchers could find it and abscond with it," Sherlock answered as if he were talking to a small child.  
  
John collapsed against the back of the toilet, "So you grabbed a handy harpoon and did the butchering for them."  
  
“Mrs. Lester was quite grate - OW!”  
  
“What’s wrong?” John asked jumping to his feet.  
  
“It’s nothing-”  
  
“Don’t bullshit me, Sherlock Holmes. What’s wrong?”  
  
“I may have wrenched my shoulder a bit when I retrieved the harpoon from the pig.  It’s... a tad painful when I try to raise my arm,” Sherlock admitted, apparently knowing when to back off when John was in Doctor mode.  “Washing my hair is um...”  
  
John sighed.  “Hand me the shampoo and stick your head out of the curtain,” he told him as he began to unbutton and roll up his sleeves.  
  
Sherlock’s head appeared, but the bottle of shampoo didn’t.  “You could get in with me?” Sherlock said, his eyebrows bouncing comically.  
  
John gave it a moment’s consideration.  He glanced towards the drain to see that most of the blood had already been rinsed off, the water at the drain running clear.  Once they got the rest of it out of Sherlock’s hair it would be all right he supposed.  And if that look was anything to go by, Sherlock wasn’t just thinking of getting John’s help with his hair.  The part of his brain that processed things logically to a fault (a growing part, a part that he blamed on highly trained survival skills that hadn’t gotten a moment’s rest since he’d moved in with Sherlock) said that perhaps a good orgasm would give Sherlock a few minutes of calm and peace.  A few minutes where he might quit driving John mad.  It had been a long few days with Sherlock in this increasingly agitated mood, combined with – as likely as not caused by – him finally deciding to convince Sherlock to give up smoking once and for all, was making for a few very, very long days on Baker Street.  Deciding that it certainly couldn’t hurt to try, John nodded and began unbuttoning his shirt.  
  
“Excellent!” Sherlock’s head disappeared back into the shower.  
  
John laughed.  Introducing Sherlock to sex and its many variations had been, at the very least, amusing.  In the weeks since “The Woman”, Sherlock had been reading up and coming to John with suggestions on a very regular basis.  He was only mildly surprised that they hadn’t gotten around to sex in the shower before now.  
  
John carefully hung his clothes on the hook on the back of the bathroom door.  He took another towel from the cabinet and tossed it on the sink before joining Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock’s smile upon seeing him was predatory.  John wasn’t that surprised.  Of course Sherlock would be excited at the idea of a few moments of not being bored.  He wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted or possibly used when Sherlock was in these moods, but the truth was, Sherlock never forgot that sex with a partner was about mutual satisfaction, and when Sherlock set his mind to becoming good at something he did so very quickly and very thoroughly.  
  
“Your hair first,” John said and then had a thought, “Is your arm really sore, or was that just a ploy to get me in the shower with you?”  
  
Sherlock handed him the shampoo and obediently presented his back, when John turned him under the spray.  “It’s a bit sore, but it’s manageable.  It just… caught me off guard,” Sherlock told him as John ran his fingers through his hair, loosening the bits of gore still clinging.  “Would I actually need to invent something to get you in the shower with me?  Thus far anything I’ve suggested you’ve readily agreed to.”  
  
John squirted shampoo into his hand.  “Lean back a bit,” he told Sherlock as he began rubbing the soap into his hair.  “And no, you wouldn’t have needed to invent something.  So you’ll let me see if you’ve done worse than just strain a muscle when we get out.”  
  
Sherlock didn’t answer, didn’t argue.  All John could hear from him was soft mewling and purring.  Sherlock had a serious fetish for John playing with his hair.  It was no surprise that this was derailing his brain.  
  
John couldn’t complain. He had a pretty serious fetish for Sherlock’s hair himself.  He drew out the process, scrubbing Sherlock’s scalp lightly with his fingernails for a while until he was reasonably sure he’d gotten Sherlock squeaky clean, and then just continuing the scalp massage because he could.  After a good long while, he turned Sherlock by the shoulders and pushed him back under the shower spray, casually checking out both of the minor cuts Sherlock had given himself.  Neither looked bad at all and both had scabbed over, John figured that it was unlikely that Sherlock would re-open either one in the process of whatever they were about to get up to.

 

As he was rinsing him off, John felt Sherlock’s erection bump against him.  He bit his lip to keep from smiling.  Sometimes Sherlock was still a little sensitive about the fact that John found it a tad amusing how easy it was to turn Sherlock on.  John had likened it (to himself, never out loud, because he was sure Sherlock wouldn’t appreciate it) to sleeping with the world’s oldest teenager.  A lifetime of denying himself had left Sherlock with a libido that was very, very easy to engage and occasionally a little too easy to please.  
  
When the last of the soap swirled down the drain, John dropped his hands to encircle Sherlock’s waist, trapping Sherlock’s cock between their wet bodies.  
  
Sherlock’s head dropped onto John’s shoulder.  “No chance I could convince you to do that every morning, is there?”  
  
“I don’t know about every morning, but I’m sure we can manage something every so often,” John said, his hands skimming lightly over Sherlock’s wet back and buttocks.  
  
Sherlock moaned and pressed his cock into John’s belly.  
  
John smiled into Sherlock’s shoulder and tapped the back of his thigh.  “Put your foot up on the tub.”  
  
Sherlock did and John shifted so that they were both balanced a bit better.  He ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s back a few more times, drifting a bit lower each time until one hand reached between Sherlock’s legs and gently stroked his balls.  
  
John could actually feel Sherlock’s eyelashes flutter against his shoulder as Sherlock’s eyes closed.  John knew that Sherlock was moving to that place they’d found for him where his eyes closed and he stopped actively listening to the random sounds around them, stopped actively cataloging everything he noticed, every little thought.  John knew he’d have to preface anything he needed Sherlock to listen to with his name because Sherlock was drifting into a place where he could focus solely on what he’s feeling.  
  
John realized _he’d_ gone completely hard at the thought that sex with him could bring Sherlock to that place.  
  
John resumed tracing patterns in the water rivulets running down Sherlock’s back until his hand once again slid down and he could run one finger down the cleft of Sherlock’s ass.  Sherlock surged against him as John lightly grazed his entrance and continued down to lightly stroke the span of sensitive skin between it and Sherlock’s balls.  Sherlock let out a sound decidedly like a whimper.  
  
They hadn’t even discussed this yet. Penetration. John figured they’d get there one day and probably soon, but he’d mentally put in the category of things best discussed before attempted.  Sherlock’s brain was going off-line, John knew, but he still wanted to be sure this was okay.  Two weeks ago Sherlock hadn’t even had another person’s hand around his cock, so it was a fair question as to whether or not he’d be interested in having even a bit of another person’s hand inside him.  
  
Leaving one hand gently rubbing up and down that sensitive tract of skin, the other moved up to Sherlock’s head.  “Sherlock?”  
  
“Hm?” Sherlock answered lazily.  
  
“Does that feel good?”  
  
“Yes.”  Sherlock’s head came off John’s shoulder for a second, “Are my reactions that vague?”  
  
John patted his head.  “No, I just wanted to hear it from you.”  John considered for a moment that it was entirely possible that it might be slightly easier on them both to have this discussion while fully dressed, while it was in the abstract.  Maybe it would be even easier by email.  Or he could text.  He turned Sherlock’s head and kissed him, giving himself a few moments to think.  He really, really wanted to feel Sherlock coming around his fingers.  Sooner or later he’d like to feel him coming around his cock, but he knew that was something they’d definitely need to discuss first, and like the whole discussion of sex two weeks ago, John knew they’d have to have it face to face and he’d have to be the one to initiate it.  But maybe for now, just a little teasing, a little play.  
  
“Have you ever put anything inside yourself, Sherlock?  Your fingers?  Toys?” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear as his finger traced the rounded muscle.  
  
Even though they were in a steaming hot shower, John could see Sherlock flush as he shook his head minutely against John’s shoulder.  
  
John pressed the pad of his finger gently against Sherlock’s opening.  “Do you want me to?”  
  
John could feel Sherlock’s breath quicken against him, could feel Sherlock’s heart pounding against his own chest.    
  
“Yes.”  
  
John kissed him again quickly and then shifted them both just enough that he could lean around the shower curtain and grab the bottle of hand lotion from the sink.  He strained to see what he was doing, with both hands behind Sherlock’s back.  Finally he managed to get some into his left palm and then he coated the fingers of his right hand with it.  He flipped the cap back on the bottle and let it fall to the shower floor.  
  
He traced Sherlock’s spine, leaving a dotted trail of lotion down the ridges of his vertebrae until his hand was back where it was.  He slid the other around to grip Sherlock’s cock where it was still wedged between them.  
  
John rubbed the lotion around Sherlock’s muscle and then slowly, slowly slid his fingertip inside.  Sherlock’s breath caught for a second and then John felt Sherlock instinctively pushing back, pressing himself onto John’s hand.  “God yes, Sherlock, that’s good, like that, yeah.”  
  
When his finger was half buried inside Sherlock, John squeezed Sherlock with his arm, prompting him to hold still.  When Sherlock stilled, John slid his finger back out until just the tip remained inside and then back in, a little further than the first time.  Sherlock gasped and his arms tightened around John’s shoulder. “More.  Please, John.”  
  
John turned his head and kissed Sherlock’s shoulder.  “Patience,” he whispered, sliding his hand down again and then when he pressed up again, he let his finger slide all the way in.  He turned his hand just a little, bending his finger just enough to find Sherlock’s prostate.  He couldn’t help but smile as Sherlock’s head snapped back, his eyes opened wide and he gasped loudly.  When Sherlock’s eyes locked on his, John did it again.  
  
Sherlock’s cock jumped in John’s hand as he continued to slide his finger in and out, careful to slide against that sweet spot each time. “God, Sherlock, your body feel so good around my finger.  So amazing…” It took less than a dozen strokes before John felt Sherlock’s arms tense around him and his cock start to pulse in John’s hands.  “That’s it, Sherlock, let go for me,” John whispered as he tightened just a tad on Sherlock’s cock.    
  
Sherlock came completely undone.  He squirmed around John’s finger, trying to figure out the best way to get the most sensation from both of John’s hands.  His sharp breaths turned into groans and moans until he caught his breath, his eyes squeezed closed and John felt something warmer than the shower water hitting him in the chest and under his chin.  
  
When Sherlock could finally breathe again, John carefully moved both hands, rinsing them in the shower stream before gathering Sherlock against him.  Sherlock’s legs seemed to be going out from under him (John realized that slightly better planning would have had their first time standing up not be in the shower, where the floor was slick).  John threw out an arm to try and balance them both and keep Sherlock standing.  It took him a few seconds to determine that Sherlock was intentionally going to his knees.  He looked down at the wet head that was now nuzzling his stomach.  “Oh.”  
  
Sherlock’s first attempt at giving John a blow job had ended somewhat horrifically - John with bruises on his legs from where Sherlock had held on a bit too tightly as he attempted to take John all the way down before he knew exactly what that entailed, and Sherlock with a bloody nose when John had tried to push Sherlock away when Sherlock used a little more teeth than was strictly recommended.  Fortunately they’d both had the grace to laugh at it once Sherlock’s nose had clotted.  And Sherlock had made a serious effort to learn how to give a proper blowjob since then.    
  
And like everything else Sherlock made a serious study of, he became an expert very quickly.  John slid his legs apart a little to balance himself a little better as Sherlock licked the shower water from his balls.  “Holy hell, Sherlock,” he breathed as he glanced down to see Sherlock’s grin.  As Sherlock shifted, straightened his back, John looked up at the tiles near the ceiling.  He knew by now that if he watched Sherlock suck him off it would be over very, very soon; far too soon.  When Sherlock grabbed the base of his cock and held him still as he quickly swallowed the tip of John’s cock, John’s arm flailed around until he was able to get a hand on the showerhead to help him balance.  (Again with this standing in the shower thing not being the most well thought out idea ever.)  
  
In the few weeks since Sherlock had started ‘studying’, he’d learned that John really, really liked when he sucked hard on the tip.  He was mimicking the way John had inched his finger into Sherlock’s body by going in a bit and then back out, and then in a bit more.  Now Sherlock was applying that same strategy to the way he sucked John’s cock.  
  
“Damn but you’re a quick study,” John managed to gasp as Sherlock pulled off him, almost letting John’s cock slide past his lips before capturing it again.  
  
“I try,” Sherlock mumbled around John’s shaft and the rumbles of Sherlock’s deep voice cut right through John, sending a full-body shiver through him.  
  
Sherlock, of course, took notice and began to hum.    
  
“Sherlock... oh...” John tried very hard not rock into Sherlock’s mouth, this wasn’t the place.  The floor was wet and Sherlock’s gag reflex wasn’t quite as under control as it could be.  Damn, but that was hard.  Sherlock’s mouth was so warm, the pressure of his hand on the base of John’s cock... it was so damn difficult not to just let his body’s needs take over.  
  
When he felt that Sherlock had him surrounded root to tip with either his hand or his mouth, and then felt Sherlock suck hard, John noticed the little sparks of pure light gathering at the base of his spine.  When he felt his balls start to tense, he scraped up the self-control to push Sherlock’s head away.  “Sherlock, god, I’m gonna come,” he warned, before he squeezed his eyes closed and gave over to the increasing build up in his body.  
  
Sherlock licked from his hand to John’s tip as he pulled back and he reangled John’s cock so that John came on his chest, not his face.  
  
When he could think at all clearly again, John sank to the floor of the tub too, leaning on Sherlock’s chest as they both relaxed in the hot spray.  
  
After just a few minutes, John could feel Sherlock’s fingers twitching where they lay against his belly.  The few minutes of reprieve had been welcome for them both, but clearly Sherlock’s general mood of agitation and hyperactivity wasn’t completely resolved.    
  
“We should get up,” John finally suggested.  
  
“Mm,” Sherlock muttered, but didn’t move.  “I suppose I should, at the very least, clean the harpoon.”  
  
John couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing.  “We really need to find you a serious case.”  
  
“A case or cigarette,” Sherlock said.  
  
John realized he was back to having to be the grown up in the room.  He sat up and wrenched off the taps, the steam in the room keeping the chill air from becoming unbearable.  “A case,” he told Sherlock as he climbed out of the tub and offered Sherlock a hand.  When Sherlock was clear of the tub, John pulled him in close and whispered in his ear, “If you can make it through the rest of the day with a smoke, you can pick something off your list tonight.”  
  
John couldn’t help but notice that Sherlock’s cock twitched just a little at that.  
  
“How do you even know about the list?” Sherlock asked as he let John pull him out of the tub.  
  
“Because you left at least twelve tabs open in _my_ browser.  I don’t need to be _you_ to figure out that you’re making a list.  But you have to get through the day without a smoke.  If not, I’m sleeping upstairs.”  
  
It was a pretty strong threat as far as Sherlock was concerned.  “I need a case.  Preferably a short one.  One that can be solved by ten o’clock tonight.”    
  
John just shook his head and threw a towel at Sherlock. “Careful of those cuts while you dry off,” he warned.  It was going to be a long afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> So obviously this was a bit of general porn for the sake of fun porn. But I also really wanted to explain Watson's line in HOUND where he says "You just had a case, and apparently it involved killing a dead pig." Not 'killing a pig' - 'killing a *dead* pig'. So there we are.


End file.
